Chapter 1

One

MARISSA

“He said my last set was ‘mimicked copies of real work’ and ‘filled with emotional naivety.’” My voice doesn’t sound exactly like my advisor’s deep, husky one, but I think I’ve given a pretty good impression of how pompous his tone usually is.

Some of the dry grass in the quad scratches my thighs, and I spot several couples on blankets, regretting that I didn’t put one in my backpack. When a small breeze filters by, it carries the scent of autumn: crunched leaves and rain in the forecast. It just makes me dread my upcoming classes. Closing my eyes, I let the afternoon rays warm my face, enjoying the break before the full stress of university sabotages my peace.

“Fuck ’em. You’re a great photographer, baby.” Pressing a tiny peck on my cheek, James hovers for a moment, then makes a failed attempt to throw his empty paper bag in the recycling nearby. It lands in front of a pledge from his fraternity, who bends and places it in the bin for him.

“Hey, James!” The freshman brightens when he sees my boyfriend, who responds with a lazy two-finger salute. “Hey, James’s girlfriend!” My lips lift into a slight smile.

Pinching some of his denim, I snag James’s jeans to pull his attention back to me. “I can’t ignore his critiques. He’s the Mr. Devon Hall.” Even I can’t stand the way I sound, all shrill with a whine... “I’m supposed to be baking him cupcakes and licking the crumbs off his hairy chest or something. At least, that’s what Selyne told me last year. He’s already called me into his office this week for more roasting.” Just thinking of his stuffy office and intense gazes makes my stomach twist into a knot.

Over the last year, Mr. Hall has often requested I visit his office hours, sighing with the heavy burden of having me as a mentee. I know I’m not great at art, but I try my best. When I bring that up, Mr. Hall suggests I visit his studio to watch him work. But the way he looks at me with some mix of disappointment and depravity has so far prevented my acceptance.

Hearting pictures on social media, James murmurs, “Ignore him. Keep being yourself. You have talent.” He pauses on a photo of his friend Mack Donaldson with his new boyfriend and unlikes the image.

“Just don’t give a fuck”is always James’s philosophy, but he can afford that privilege. After his undergraduate, he’ll move to California, attend a fancy law school, and make partner at his father’s firm. He never has to worry about what he’ll do for money once he finishes school.

My photography degree feels like a complete waste of my time and my parents’ money. Despite proclaiming in high school that I wanted to travel and take pictures, my father insisted I go to college while he would cover my costs.

Art was the only thing I could think of to study. Dad warned me I would never make a living for myself, but he was still supportive when I chose the major. With each day that creeps closer to next year’s graduation, the panic of adulthood rises. I have no plan for what to do after. Maybe I can get a job at a ritzy coffee shop and become independent before the age of thirty-five. Or sell nude photos online before I lose my body.

Rubbing out tension from the back of my neck, I glance around the yellowing lawn at the groups of Northview University students lulling about in the white sun. The buildings cast nebulous silhouettes on our side of the quad, and my mind frames a series of architectural photos for next week’s project. While studying the prisms from a nearby stained glass, my eyes snap to a tall, dark figure emerging from the business building.

Xavier Cardell has model looks, with sleek black hair perfectly tousled in a way that makes it seem as if some girl has just run her fingers through it—which she probably has—and a body that screams gym bro. Heir to Cardell Enterprises, the business that owns most of our town and almost everyone in it, he’s untouchable. By the way he carries himself, he knows it.

Strolling up to James with a red envelope tucked between two long digits, the god himself approaches with a leggy blonde on either side. Each woman grasps a muscular, tattooed bicep, appearing discontented, like it’s an insult having to walk the same path as the peasants.

“James Stevenson.” Xavier’s sculpted body looms over my boyfriend, casting a shadow on our little picnic. His darkness causes such an eclipse that I wonder if anyone’s light can shine through the void.

At the interruption, James glances up and almost chokes on his dill pickle before replying, “Uh, yeah. That’s me. Can I help you?”

As if always sucking on something bitter, Xavier’s chiseled jaw clenches before he speaks. “Yeah, I’ve seen you around.” Dropping the paper into his hand, his deep voice resonates through the chill air. “Hope you can join us. Oh, and make sure to bring your girlfriend.”

With a wave of his black hair, Xavier nods at me, my skin erupting in tingles as if he just shot a bolt of lightning in my direction. Slowly, the man turns his icy blue eyes to stare at me. His gaze is so intense, it captures my breath. As if he can tell the effect he has on my body, a corner of his lips lifts ever-so slightly. Breaking the trance he’s placed me under, he turns, tugging the women with him and drifting away like an apparition.

My eyes dart to James, heart racing to catch up on some missed beats. He eyes the object like it’s made of rubies before ripping it open as I ask, “What is that?”

James slides out a note of heavy cardstock. After reading it over carefully, he holds it out for me and lowers his voice. “It’s a Red Night invite. You know, the party I told you about.” Whipping his head around, his eyes widen as he catches a glimpse of Xavier sauntering away.

This party isn’t just any party, and it isn’t just any fraternity. It’s “Red Night” at Theta Rho Zeta. TRZ is less of a college brotherhood and more like a secret rich boy underground club entrenched in debauchery. Apparently, if you want a wild sex party on the down low, Theta Rho is the place to go.

Snagging an invite to their quarterly Red Night is unheard of if you don’t know someone. Not even a “knows someone who knows someone.” Students are handpicked for the event by an officer, and we’ve just been invited by the president of TRZ himself. Only the most attractive or those willing to submit themselves to debased scenarios earn a coveted spot, or so James told me once in private.

The calligraphy on the invitation posts a date one month away to be held at the Theta Rho Zeta manor. Instructions indicate that attendees should wear a masquerade mask, if so desired, and present a clean bill of health at the door. You’re allowed to bring guests only if explicitly stated. Cameras and phones prohibited. Condoms and sex toys provided. There’s also some legal warning that by attending, you’re not to speak of the events.

The bottom of the invite ominously states:

By attending Red Night, you consent to viewing and participating in any sexual activities that may occur.

James flips his head back to me. “Oh my god, Marissa.” Flashing his dimples in his creased cheeks, his grin widens. “We are doing this, right? This could be it for me—us. If you don’t want to, it’s okay; I’ll just⁠—”

“I’m on board. Let’s go. You’ve wanted this for so long. I’ll enjoy watching you have so much fun…and I’ve wanted to try this, too.” Trying to sound as excited as my boyfriend, I match his smile with my own, hoping it’s not too obvious how much of a show it is.

Truth is, I’m scared. Since we started dating, James shared his sexual fantasies with me, feeling more open than he ever had with anyone. He accepted his bisexual identity through our chats and, of course, I support him. I’m happy to be there while he explores himself more thoroughly.

James gave his friend, Mack, a blowjob once at their fraternity party after they made out for an hour. Conflictingly, I was turned on by the whole thing but didn’t participate, just watched while James kept his hand in mine. After my twenty-first birthday in the spring, James escorted me to a sex club and sucked off two men at the same time. All I did was stand there like a voyeur missing a prominent appendage.

“Awesome! I’ve heard it gets crazy. We’ll have an amazing time, I know it.” James grabs my hand resting on my bag and squeezes it in his large, warm one. “I love you.”

This is what love is, right? Pleasing your partner and supporting them through their struggles?

Scanning the area, his light blue eyes narrow at various couples. No one else is holding a red envelope. James has always been eager to get me involved in his activities, but I’m not exactly sure how or if I fit into his new life. By agreeing to attend, maybe he thinks I’ll earn my orgy participation patch for my Sex Scouts sash.

The followingweek is the Stevenson’s dreaded annual Labor Day party. Anytime we have to attend events at the white brick contemporary mansion, I silently beg time will fast-forward like I’m a Sims character. Unfortunately, the “I have a migraine” excuse has been used up, so I’m dressed in a periwinkle wrap dress with a full skirt patterned with daisies. Placing a white sunhat on my head, I tuck back my long, dark hair.

When his Mustang rolls up to the parking lot, I slide in and inspect my boyfriend’s classy tan linen suit. “Hey, babe!” Threading his fingers through mine, he places our joined hands on his lap. “Ready?”

Swallowing, I tell him quietly, “My head is starting to hurt.”

With a sigh and a purse of his lips, he gives me a warning tone. “Marissa…”

I give up and roll my eyes. “All right. Fine. Let’s go before I jump out of the car.”

The muscle in the engine roars to life as we take off toward the palace of pomposity. “Did you get your test results already?” Another week, another discussion about Red Night. It’s all he can talk about.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Cool, cool. I got mine back, too.” Sliding the gear into fifth, he says, “All clean.”

“Good. Me, too.”

For once, he’s silent, until the stiffness in the air causes me to turn my head to get a peek at his expression. Glancing at me with his blue eyes, he says, “I know Mack isn’t coming. I asked.”

“Oh. D-did you want him to be there?”

“No.” Dropping my hand, he flips on the radio to a classic rock station, seemingly closing the subject.

The night he and Mack hooked up, I know James wanted to get fucked in the ass. He’d been discussing it with me for weeks before. But Mack wasn’t down with it, and after their make-out session, he ghosted James. I told James I would peg him if he wanted and we tried a few times, but he told me he wanted the thrill of a real penis.

As the date of the party approaches, my breath grows shallow just thinking of it, unsure of what he has in mind for me to do on Red Night. His sole focus is on taking it in the ass. Mine’s on not losing my boyfriend. For a while, I considered I wasn’t enough for him anymore. Maybe he needs a man. I don’t know how long I can put up with trying to share him with someone else, even if it is just sex.

The thought of him leaving me terrifies me. It will mean everything I think about myself is true. That I’m not pretty enough. Good enough. And I have nothing to offer anyone.

“Hey, remember The Barge?” James points to an outdoor venue near the river as we pass. “I think about that night every time I drive past.”

The worries of the future seem to dissipate as I reminisce about the last time we were there together. “Me, too.”

Freshman year, my boisterous friend, Elle, and I were at the bar watching a local band, when James bopped his way over. Knowing everyone on campus, she introduced us, but I didn’t think I’d have a shot with a man as attractive as James. To my surprise, he spent the evening by my side, making me laugh, dancing, and then kissing me at last call. We fucked in the back of his Mustang after the show. It was the first orgasm I hadn’t given myself.

After that night, James and I found each other around campus at various festivities. He was so charismatic that no one could resist his gravitational pull. Everyone knew him or knew of him. We hooked up at every party until we decided we were together. From then on, I was simply known as “James’s girlfriend” around the Nighthawk’s campus. I don’t even think people know who Marissa Matlock is.

“We’re here!” Faking a creepy doom voice, his fingers crawl up my arm like a spider. As the car pulls into their large, circular driveway, my heartbeat leaps into my throat.

James jumps out, opening my car door for me and gathering my arm to place on his bent bicep. A butler greets us at their large front entry with a stoic expression. Murmurs of conversations filter through the back windows where most people loiter near the sparkling pool in the backyard.

Craning my neck to see who’s already here, my fingers tighten around my boyfriend’s arm. Usually, the parties consist of stuffy lawyers, but the worst part about this event is it also includes James’s snooty aunts and uncles. I’m hoping not to get stuck with any of them alone.

Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson stand like wax figures near the backdoor, greeting guests as they arrive. Neither makes eye contact with me, distracted as their pride and joy approaches. James’s mother reaches out with extended palms to kiss him on both cheeks, and his father shakes his hand like they’re work acquaintances.

“Son! Glad you made it.” His father’s eyes scan just over my head, giving me the urge to peek behind us to see if he’s looking at someone else. “Hello, Melinda.”

“Dad, it’s Marissa. You know that,” he says with a little scoff and drops his father’s hand. “We’ve been together for two years.”

“Oh, there’s Owen Norton. Excuse me.” Mr. Stevenson sidesteps me to greet his more important visitor.

“Darling, there’re a few people I want to introduce you to.” Mrs. Stevenson snags James’s arm from me and leads him toward the crowd. Trailing behind them like I belong, I try to keep up. But she’s spry and crafty, weaving her way through tan suits and pink dresses. When we get separated, I decide to grab some champagne, desperate for the bubbles to help dull the pain in my neck for just a moment.

Sure, we have our issues in my family, but we brush those right under the rug like good stoics. Being polite and kind is paramount in the Matlock household, I was always taught. My parents treat my boyfriend with warmth and compassion. Not like with the Stevensons toward me.

By the time I find a circulating waiter and down two glasses, I’ve completely lost sight of James and worry about where to hide from his relatives. There’s some relief in not having to be near his mother’s judgy eyes, but also, it’s uncouth to leave their side. And that worry makes my stomach ache. Needing the restroom, I head inside toward the kitchen, but as I round the hall, James’s voice rings out from his father’s office area.

“I don’t care, Mother.”

“We can find you someone much more appropriate,” she responds.

“Son, I know she’s lovely to look at, but you must be careful with those of a lower class.”

“It’s not like they’re destitute. Marissa’s dad’s a cardiologist, for fuck’s sake.” There’s a pause as footsteps draw closer to me. “I’m with Marissa. Get used to it.”

When James emerges, I shrink against the wall, but there’s nowhere to hide. “Oh, hey, babe! You ready to go?” Instead of his usual bright face, he looks fierce, his cheeks flaming red.

“Yes,” I answer with a sigh. Some part of me feels like I’ve just been let out of jail if we can leave so soon, but the other part knows…this is just another sign things aren’t working out.

While my belly twists into a knot, James firmly grasps my hand and leads us back to his car. If I bring up what happened, I’ll have to face some truth I don’t want to. Between an unforeseen career future and not even knowing if I’m going to pass this semester, everything feels as shaky as my knees. James is the only steady thing in my life right now, and once he’s gone, I’ll have to start adulthood. The fear will overtake me, I know it. I hate the idea of being alone. It’s the scariest place to be.

It’s several miles down the road before he speaks. “I guess you heard that.”

“Yeah. It’s not the first time.” Once, at their second Independence Day party, his father gave him a lecture about making sure he always wore a condom when he was with me. Not wanting me to get impregnated for their money.

“Fuck ’em. That’s what I say.” His usual demeanor returning, he grips our hands and lifts them to his mouth, pressing his lips to each of my fingers. Sighing, I stare out the window, wishing I could be as flippant as James. I hate to admit how much his parents’ disapproval weighs on me. Fuck, I just hate disappointing anyone. But knowing they’re constantly trying to set him up with someone new, the realization that we won’t have a future together stings. James will leave next year, and I’ll still be here in Northview.

When we reach my apartment complex parking lot on campus, he doesn’t move. With my hand on the door, I ask, “You’re not coming up?”

He stares at his cup holders, biting his bottom lip. “Nah, I’m going to the Delta party tonight.”

“Oh.” Taking a deep breath in, I hold it, so I don’t feel the hurt coming. Is he just using tonight as preparation for Red Night?

Giving me his puppy dog eyes, his lips turn down. “I would invite you, but I know you hate those things.”

I nod. “Yeah, okay. I think there’s a new Masterpiece Mystery on anyway.”

He used to invite me everywhere. But he’s right. I would much rather spend a night in with my roomie Sharice. And, hopefully, Elle doesn’t barge in and demand we all go out. Some of the tension eases from my shoulders, thinking about throwing on my sweatpants.

“I’ll send you a text to let you know I made it home safe, but keep your window open.”

On most Friday and Saturday nights, James crawls into my bed through my room’s balcony via the fire escape, usually drunk, high, or still rolling on Molly. His favorite way to wake me up is with his face between my legs until I can’t stand it, needing his dick inside.

“See you.”

“Love you, babe.” James leans over and lightly touches his soft lips to mine. As I climb the stairs to my apartment, I hope one of the girls will be home for entertainment, feeling a bit abandoned. Fortunately, Sharice is splayed on the sofa when I walk in, playing on her phone.

“Masterpiece Mystery night?” I ask her, tossing my purse on the hooks behind our door.

Sitting up, her twists shake as she spots me near the front door. “Definitely! Starts in twenty minutes. I’ll get the popcorn ready.”

After kicking off all my clothes and sliding into comfy sweatpants, I return to the living room and plop on my designated cushion. Sharice slides the big metal bowl toward me and points to a beer open on the coffee table. Snagging some of the cold ale, I ask, “How’s the symphony going?”

She sighs and turns down the volume on the TV a notch. “Ugh, don’t ask. I’m here early because I can’t listen to another C chord without losing my mind.” As a music major, she spends most of her time in her studio or has her headphones on, listening to some creation or inspiration.

“Well, you’ve got plenty of time, right? Semester just started.”

“Yeah, and I’ll say the same to you about your project.” Her dark brown eyes give me a knowing look before a corner of her thick lips jerk up into a smirk. “You stress yourself out too much.”

I shrug and sink back into the sofa. “I know. You’re right.” But just thinking about designing something Mr. Hall won’t hate makes the corn feel like it’s popping in my belly.

After two beers, the show, and a change of subject, I’m able to fall asleep easily, snuggled comfortably in my bed, forgetting about my dreaded future.

At some point early in the morning, I moan awake with James between my legs. It doesn’t take long before he’s inside me and an even shorter time before he’s finished. Ditching his condom in my bathroom, he leaps back into bed with me. Laying on top of my body, he pecks my mouth with a little kiss. “Babe, you’re on board, right? You look weird whenever I mention Red Night.”

“I look weird? I don’t look weird!” I slap his arm playfully.

With a laugh, he drops his head into my neck to nuzzle me, his voice coming out muffled by my skin. “I didn’t mean weird; you’re beautiful. I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me… You know how you do.”

Maybe post-coital is the best time to lay out my reservations. And perhaps that flutter in my heart will slow down if I confess my worries. I hate conflict, but I have to tell him. Lifting his head, his blue eyes study my face as I say, “Red Night… Uh…what do you think I should do while you, um. What do you want me to do? In your fantasy, I mean, when we’re there. Where do I fit in?” Do I sound desperately insecure? Because I sure feel it.

James is extremely attractive, with his dirty blonde hair and pretty boy face. No matter where we go, he gets hit on by men and women, even if I’m standing right beside him. I know I snagged someone out of my league, and he tells me to be more confident. Every time it happens, he says he loves me, and there is nothing to worry about. But I can’t help how I feel, especially now that he seems more interested in having sex with other men than with me. Gripping the sheet, I will my hand to stop shaking as I await his answer.

“Well, I thought we could play around like we normally do, but with strangers in the room, ya know. I don’t even know who’s going to be there…” His eyes gleam in the lamplight. “If Jackson Riley shows up… Damn. Yeah, I’d love him to just take me. You’d be cool with that, right, babe? I mean, he could fuck me, and you could suck me or continue riding me, or maybe I’d suck him while fucking you… I don’t know. We can play it by ear.”

The scenes play before my eyes. James has expressed his attraction to the TRZ member and university football player over the last year since they ran into each other at a party. Jackson is gay, so I’m not quite sure how he would feel about “James’s girlfriend” tagging along if the two of them end up having sex. Part of me worries my vagina will scare away James’s chances of anal bliss. And maybe a deeper part of me wants that.

Trying to gather up some saliva in my dry mouth, I respond, “Yeah, that’s cool. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable having sex with someone else by myself, though. I mean, if it were double penetration, I’m down. We’re both cool with that?”

“Yes, baby, I’m definitely cool with DP’ing you with some hot dude there. Maybe eat his cum out of your pussy after.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he rolls to his side and pulls my back into his chest tightly. His embrace makes me feel slightly more at ease.

I question his plan. “So, you’d take my ass, then? I mean, fully? You’d be okay with someone else in my pussy?” James has never breached my back hole. He has used a butt plug a few times to get me used to the sensation, but was always more interested in using it on himself.

“Yeah, we can do that…if you want. Honestly, babe, I figured I would be going down on a couple of dudes, and then get fucked in the ass while you rode my cock. That’s my fantasy. I want to come in your pussy while taking it in the ass.” Quietly, almost with a shake in his voice, he asks, “Is that all right with you?”

Oddly, his own nerves seem to calm mine. “Yes. Of course.” I want to make James’s fantasy come true, for him to be happy. Do I have any fantasies of my own? I’m not exactly sure. Delving into my own desires feels selfish. He’s dealing with sexual identity issues. We usually end up focusing more on his journey than mine, but maybe I can figure out what I crave in the process.

Before James, I was inexperienced. I lost my virginity in ten seconds to my high school sweetheart. He and I had sloppy sex after school dances and once under the bleachers during a football game. My first boyfriend at university tied me up with silk ties once, but whenever I’d ask Trevor about his fantasies, he’d say something like, “Just you and fucking your pussy all night long, precious.” It wasn’t good sex. I never came and sneaked away after to get myself off with my vibrator.

It’s difficult, but James makes sure I have an orgasm most of the time–only while in cowgirl position and only if he sucks my nipples. I wonder, though, if there’s something I’m missing. James gets so animated when talking about giving blowjobs or a new position to try with us and another guy. I haven’t been that passionate about anything, possibly ever.

Before falling asleep, we set up some ground rules for Red Night and just the possibility of them makes my body relax enough to ease some of my worries.

I will stick by James. He and I can be together like normal, but with other people around. If some man decides to join us, we’ll both encourage it and James will let them know he’s available for butt stuff, and I will fuck or suck James while that happens.

Somewhere in there, I hope to get off, too.